


God's Gift

by Katzedecimal



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's pronouns are all over the place, Gen, Gift Fic, Minor Violence, Schmoop, slightly f/f if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: Lady Crowlyn had the most caring tire-woman in the whole of the Queen's retinue.   Very caring.And Crowley was having a challenging time beingcared forby Aziraphale.





	God's Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeniG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeniG/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Making Arrangements](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634779) by [PeniG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeniG/pseuds/PeniG). 

> This has absolutely nothing to do with the 30 000 word farce missing from _Making Arrangements._
> 
> Many, many thanks to PeniG for their lovely, entertaining, and inspiring stories in their [Akashic Records](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1446628) series. My preferred practice is to let the gift recipient pre-screen the fic before I post it anywhere publically but AO3 does make that difficult. So, I am taking the liberty of posting it, with the hope that it does not offend you, dear PeniG, nor run at cross purposes to anything. I hope you like it? :)

They didn’t envy Lady Crowlyn for her rich auburn hair, the colour of autumn. They didn’t envy her for her dark gowns of fine linen and her woolen cloaks lined with silk. They didn’t envy her for her slender figure or her sharp features or the tiny lenses that shielded her eyes. 

No, they envied her for her maidservant, a plump little thing named Godgifu. 

_”You’ll have to braid my hair, lace up my dress and shoe my foot,”_ Crowley had promised. That thrill had lasted all of three days. In its place was something much more intriguing. Lady Crowlyn had the most caring tire-woman in the whole of the Queen’s retinue. 

In retrospect, she shouldn’t have been so surprised. Aziraphale had taken his new role quite seriously, down to acquiring the necessary skills. It had taken a few miracles but Godgifu’s embroidery was becoming highly sought-after among the court, as were her tablet-woven garter ribbons. Braiding hair had taken another miracle but it was Aziraphale’s own gentleness that ensured he never tugged or hurt Crowley’s scalp.

Every morning there was a pitcher of warmed water, along with mint tea and a jug of small ale. After washing her face and dry-brushing her body, Lady Crowlyn would find Godgifu waiting for her with a freshened chemise and her gown laid out. 

“You’re going to attract attention with this,” she’d said once, early on, “Not even the Queen gets warm wash water every day.”

Godgifu just shrugged, “I heat the water for tea anyways and the cold is unpleasant for you.”

Which it was, so Crowlyn didn’t press the issue. She let Godgifu help her into her chemise then sat still while Godgifu combed out her hair and prepared to braid it. The rich auburn locks spilled in coils and waves down the linen chemise, separating easily into strands. Godgifu’s gentle fingers wove the strands into two plaits along Crowlyn’s head, then each plait split into two braids, which Godgifu bound together with ribbons of oak-gall black. 

Crowley preferred to present as a mature person regardless of gender, so Crowlyn had the appearance of a woman past her child-bearing years, or near to. Godgifu helped her into her gown, lacing it carefully and belting it with a tablet-woven band of crimson woven with patterns resembling black snakes. Then she wound a translucent linen veil around Crowlyn’s head and shoulders, as befitted a mature woman of station.

Only a few people had ever inquired about whether Lady Crowlyn had a husband, living or dead. On the occasion she chose to answer, she had described her beau as a fine knight of the court of Wessex, who had once faced down the Black Knight himself and walked away unscathed. 

Godgifu had nearly choked on her ale. 

“You claimed _me_ as your _beau_?” she’d exclaimed later.

Crowlyn had shrugged, “Who else was I going to claim, Hastur? Besides, it was ages ago, it’s not like anyone’s going to go ‘round and check.”

“You could have warned me,” Godgifu had grumbled. Crowlyn had just grinned.

“Speaking of attracting attention,” Godgifu said as she buckled the brooches on Crowlyn’s apron overdress, “The duke has ordered a banquet laid to receive the Queen. You should eat something this time.”

“Eh,” Crowlyn shrugged, “You know I don’t eat much.”

“People are starting to comment, Crowlyn. You don’t want that to escalate, your station won’t protect you and I can only do so much if they decide that you’re a witch and turn mob. You **don’t** want a repeat of that time in Nippon when they decided you were a _kitsune_.”

Crowlyn grimaced, knowing Godgifu was right. “Alright, but don’t complain at me because I’m grouchy when my jaw’s sore. You know I can’t chew easily.”

Godgifu nodded, “I have an idea for that.”

And she had. At the dinner, she carved the meat for her lady herself, cutting slices of modest size, and similarly sized chunks of carrot and swede. Then whenever she felt Crowlyn should eat something, Godgifu would lean a bit and shield her from view so that Crowlyn could discreetly swallow the pieces whole.

Crowlyn still attracted a bit of attention by insisting that her tire-woman sleep in her chamber instead of the servants’ quarters. This was partly because Aziraphale didn’t sleep but also partly because Crowlyn was coming to like his company very much. This was becoming the most fun mission Crowley had ever undertaken and it was quickly becoming his favourite.

Fact was, he and Aziraphale hadn’t spent much actual time together since Rome, when they’d toured around all the restaurants and bath houses. This was the most time they’d spent in each other’s company in several hundred years and Crowley found he’d missed it very much. Aziraphale was _fun._

And Aziraphale _cared._ That was what was making this mission so much of a challenge - Godgifu might be a role but Godgifu’s care _wasn’t._ That was pure Aziraphale, right from the beginning when he stretched his wing over Crowley to protect him from the rain. And Crowley was having a very challenging time dealing with being _cared for_ by Aziraphale. As a demon, he didn’t deserve it, yet Aziraphale offered it without hesitation, all the same. As a demon, cast forth, unworthy of God’s love, he felt grateful, almost pathetically grateful, for the angel’s heart-felt attentions - and that was terribly irritating, he had some pride after all! Demons feeling grateful? To an angel?? Preposterous! 

And yet he almost wept when Godgifu coaxed Crowlyn to bend forward and shampooed her hair with soapwort and warm water, gentle fingers massaging her sore scalp, then rubbed oil into the ends to help the curls. Nearly wept when Godgifu wrapped the garters she’d woven around the hose she’d rolled onto Crowlyn’s slender calves. When she bundled Crowlyn up in her hooded cloak and chided her to wrap up warm. When she found her bed well-warmed and well laid with quilts because Godgifu understood how chilled Crowley could become. When Godgifu had touched her jaw to check for swelling, after every meal.

Being cared for by Aziraphale was proving to be very tough to take. A lot of strange emotions stirred in Crowley’s heart and soul and he really didn’t know what to make of them.

It was a dark and quiet night. Godgifu sat up in her chair, reading by the light of a single candle, listening to Crowlyn’s slow breathing as she slumbered. The air through the window was fresh and cold and smelled of the nearby stables. Which was why Godgifu didn’t notice the underlying smell of brimstone until the shadows were moving under the door. She tensed. The door creaked open, wafting in the smells of brimstone, mould, and feces.

_Demon,_ she realized. Crowley smelled pleasantly of patchouli, coffee, a bit of smoke, and a hint of snake musk if he’d been exerting. But this demon wasn’t Crowley. Crowley had talked about this one. “Turn around, sirrah,” Godgifu said quietly but firmly, “You have the wrong room.”

“No,” the demon said, “Pretty sure I have the right room. What are you supposed to be, girl?” The demon shuffled close enough for the candle to illuminate his black jelly eyes. “You smell like an angel.”

“I am the Principality Aziraphale,” she announced, “And you are trespassing.”

“Aziraphale?” the demon repeated doubtfully. He jerked his chin at the sleeping figure on the bed, “The one that moron is so afraid of? You don’t look like a principality.”

“**You** don’t look like a duke,” Aziraphale sniffed, “And you smell like a swineherd.”

“I do not!” the demon hissed, affronted.

“I shall warn you but once, sirrah - take your leave, **now!**”

The Duke of Hell took a step towards the bed, “Not without that fool!”

“Crowley is **my** concern now,” Aziraphale said firmly, moving to intercept.

“What’re you gonna do, smite me?”

“If I must.”

“You don’t even have a sword!” the duke sneered. He stepped forward and reached for Crowley.

Godgifu threw the heavy Bible she had been reading.

Crowley shot up from her bed, woken by the Duke of Hell’s frantic screaming. She took in the scene then winked at Godgifu. “Hastur!” she hissed, rushing over to him, “Hastur, what are you doing?! That’s _Aziraphale!_ I’ve _told_ you never to mess with him! Now we must flee!” She seized the groaning demon and, with another wink and a grin at Godgifu, disappeared with him into the earth.

Godgifu picked up her Bible and calmly went back to her chair. She hoped Crowley would be alright. She pressed her lips into a thin line, now left with the problem of how to explain the sudden disappearance of her Lady Crowlyn.

For three days, Aziraphale sang, keeping the rain just thick enough to dissuade the Queen’s retinue from continuing their journey, without flooding the surrounding village and farms. She was really starting to worry about whether Crowley would return - or whether she was _able_ to return. More than once, Aziraphale had found Crowley after a so-called “performance review” had left him nearly discorporated. She was about to give up and let the party move on, when she heard a voice beneath the window whisper, “Hsst! Aziraphale! Over here!”

She shoved the heavy curtains aside and looked down. Down in the muddy earth was a black snake. The snake lifted off the ground, showing its crimson belly. Aziraphale reached down for it. “It’s about time! I was getting worried!” she chided, “I’ve told them you’re ill with the spreading ague.” She gathered the snake close and took her to the basin to wash her clean of mud.

Once clean, Crowley shifted back into her human form. She had her hands clamped over her mouth. “What’s the matter?” Godgifu said, reaching for one of Crowlyn’s fresh chemises.

“It was _perfect!_” Crowley gasped, “It couldn’t have been more perfect if you’d rehearsed!”

“What happened? What did you do?”

“I _thanked_ him!”

Godgifu blinked, “You what?”

“I thanked him for saving my life!” Crowley chortled, “’I had no idea the angel was even in the area! I didn’t know he’d found me! Oh, Hastur, you got there just in time! He would surely have destroyed me had you not so bravely taken the blow!’” Crowley nearly collapsed, wheezing with laughter, “It was perfect! They ate it up! Hastur got a commendation and everyone insisted I needed a break after such a close call!”

“Leaving me to worry and to have to stall the Queen’s journey,” Godgifu huffed as she pulled the chemise over Crowlyn’s head. But she was grinning a little too. “Goodness, Crowley, you’re cold!”

“You smote a duke of Hell and very nearly got me, too, you can put that in your report!” Crowley laughed.

Aziraphale huffed, “I may have to.”

“Sorry to have worried you, angel,” Crowley said, sitting on her bed.

“Well, it’ll take a day for the ground to dry out enough to travel on. That should give you enough time to ‘recover.’” Godgifu passed Crowlyn her smoked glasses, “What did he want with you, anyways?”

“Eh, nothing good,” Crowley dodged, not putting them on, “Apparently I’m not influencing the Queen fast enough.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, “Like they have any idea. You were right, this whole mission is a wash for both of us.”

“Lots of fun, though.”

Godgifu nodded, conceding, “I’ve had worse.” She poured two goblets of warmed wine and passed one to Crowlyn, “Your boss screams like a goat.” Crowlyn nearly inhaled her wine and nodded frantically, trying to swallow and not spray. “And you’re much too cold,” Godgifu chided, “How long were you a snake?”

“Eh, possibly a bit too long,” Crowlyn admitted. 

Godgifu put her cup down. “Let me start a blanket warming,” she said and got up to fetch a thick woolen plaid from the press and put it in front of the fireplace. “Get under the covers,” she commanded, “I’ll join you in just a moment.”

Crowlyn blinked, “You’ll… _what?_”

“You’re much too cold and you’re not making enough of your own heat yet. There’s no sun so you’ll have to make do with my heat,” Godgifu said briskly. She threw the warmed blanket over the bed and threw another quilt over top of it, then shed her shoes and climbed into the bed. “There,” she said, “Now come here.” And she put her arms around Crowley. 

Crowley laid her head cautiously on Aziraphale’s shoulder, feeling the stirrings of… warmth. Just warmth, that’s all it was. The angel was right, she was _very_ cold, too cold even to shiver. She was just reacting to the warmth. That’s all it was. 

Not because her heart was in turmoil. God had deemed her unworthy of Their care and cast her out. Yet the Principality had deemed her worthy of his own care and had taken her in. Crowley had Fallen a long time ago and it seemed like every time she saw the angel since, she fell again. And again. And again.

Pressed against Godgifu’s plump, sweet-smelling body, curled against her warmth, held in her strong arms, the taste of warm wine in her mouth, the memory of the angel standing protectively over her bed, throwing a holy book at her hated handler flashed to Crowley’s mind. She felt the pressure of tears and it felt like she was falling yet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Godgifu was an Anglo-Saxon name meaning "God's Gift." It seemed appropriate :)


End file.
